


November, 2008

by gunsandships



Series: What Was and Wasn't [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunsandships/pseuds/gunsandships
Summary: Eliza is interrupted by Alexander, who just wants some sleep.





	November, 2008

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment of a series of one-shots centered around Eliza, who doesn't get nearly the amount of attention she deserves.  
> Please leave comments and constructive criticism!

Eliza looked up from her work at the sound of her door opening. “It’s generally considered polite to knock first, you know,” she said as Alexander’s head came into view. He didn’t acknowledge her comment, instead scanning her office for other people. 

“It’s just me. What’s up?” 

He straightened up and kicked the door closed. “Eliza, I need your help.” 

She put her pen down and eyed him quizzically. “Why?” He had never, as far as she could recall, ever asked anyone around the office for help before. It seemed out of character. In fact, when she got a good look at him in the light emitting from her desk lamp, she could see that his whole demeanor was. His normally fiery eyes were tired – yes, they were always a little tired, because he worked too much and slept too little, but they were a different kind of tired now, defeated-looking, almost, like a flame about to flicker away. His hair wasn’t only tousled as per usual, it was greasy, and his forehead glistened with sweat. 

“Alexander, are you alright?”

“No.” He met her gaze for the first time since entering her office – she felt her stomach tighten as it always did when he looked her in the eyes, and an intense urge arose in her to stand up and reach over the desk to feel his forehead. Her hand twitched in her lap. 

She knew he wouldn’t stay quiet for long, and the unfamiliar silence accompanied by their continued eye contact made her strangely aware that this was the longest stretch of either that they’d ever shared. Not wanting to break the spell, she didn’t speak. 

It took him half a minute to open his mouth.

“I can’t seem to find the right turn of phrase. Justin in eleventh wrote an essay on the suffragettes, and it was great, as usual – he’s so good, if that kid doesn’t grow up to be something astonishing I’ll eat my hat – anyway, he wrote this essay, and the only thing I want to comment on is his syntax, it’s lacking _something_ but I don’t know what, it’s not concrete enough to put into a constructive sentence, it’s more like the vibe is off somehow, but _how to articulate that_ – God, I need a break. Help, Eliza. My brain is fried.” He gave a half-frustrated chuckle and ran his hand through his hair. Eliza considered him for a moment. Then,

“What do you want my advice for? I teach French. I wouldn’t be qualified to comment on his syntax or grade his paper as long as it’s in English.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t ask for advice, but rather _help_.”

“Go on.”

“My lack of concentration and, thus, lacking ability to form proper sentences –“ Eliza snorted and rolled her eyes in his general direction – “my headache –“ he tousled his hair again, almost long enough now to put up into a ponytail – “and the state of my appearance –“ he tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, which was the kind of wrinkled that shirts get when you wear them several days in a row – “are merely symptoms, Eliza, side effects, if you will, of my real problem.” 

A pause. A sharp inhale from Eliza as Alexander reached for her hand. She felt her heart lurch. He looked at her, pleadingly, and said, “I haven’t slept for three days. I’m burning out. My apartment is too cold - I broke my window, don’t ask, can’t afford to replace it until next payday - my office chair is too hard and upright to sleep in, Hercules has a “lady visitor” and doesn’t want me popping the puppy love bubble, ha, joke’s on him, he’ll pop it just fine by himself when she hears him fart, hell, when she _smells_ it, it’s like boiled cabbage and rotten eggs with a hint of diarrhea, mmm, delicious imagery for you –“ 

He seemed to realize that he was off on a tangent, because he shook his head a little and continued, “Anyway, I need somewhere to take a nap, which brings me here. Your couch – I’m still bitter about that, by the way, Washington giving you the bigger office with enough room to fit a couch in, and me a fucking broom cupboard, even though we started on the same day – it looks crazy comfortable and you’re the only one staying late today. Everyone else’s office is locked, otherwise I would have crashed in Burr’s, that chair of his looks fucking marvelous.”

Had he been anyone else, Eliza would have asked him to please get to the point. To almost every other member of faculty his ramblings were annoying and boring, but to her, the phenomenon was mesmerizing. It meant she could peek inside his mind, tune into his stream of consciousness, listen to it. His mind, in all its complexity, was her favorite thing about him. Sharp, always three steps ahead of everyone else, countering someone’s argument before they had a chance to utter it, but also astonishingly dim sometimes. Anyone else would have picked up on the effect he had on Eliza whenever they found themselves alone together. She both relished in and resented the fact that he never seemed to.

“Anyway, can I nap here? Just for a few hours. You can keep working, keep the door unlocked and just go home whenever, I won’t disturb anything, promise.”

“Wait. You said you _broke_ your window? What, like, smashed the glass?”

“I said don’t ask,” he mumbled, disgruntled. “Eliza, I’m so tired. Please?” The pleading look he now gave her, and the fact that he was still holding her hand in both of his, made her cross her legs in discomfort. Her mouth was dry. She swallowed.

“Sure, Alexander, you can nap here.”

His face cracked into a grateful smile and he pressed a kiss to her hand. Eliza wondered if it was he who lingered for just a moment longer than needed, or if time had stopped temporarily when his lips touched her skin. 

“Eliza Schuyler, you are a gift to mankind. If you ever need a speech written, I’ve got you.” 

She laughed, red and embarrassed for a multitude of reasons. “You mind if I keep grading these? I’ll be quiet.” She held up the stack of paper on her desk. 

Alexander waved a dismissive hand at her, already stretched out on his back on her sofa, eyes closed and legs crossed. “Night.”

It was barely five in the afternoon, but she didn’t retort, not wanting his eyes to open again so she’d have to avert her gaze. She watched his eyelids flutter and his chest rise and fall, spellbound, pen laying untouched and forgotten on top of the papers, until the screen on her phone lit up with a text message. She felt a pang of guilt.

Her heart thumping in her chest, Eliza got to work, every movement of her hand under the warm light of the desk lamp making her diamond ring twinkle. It felt like a noose.


End file.
